


flesh and bone by the telephone

by cher



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Soul Bond, Voluntary Branding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-10-26 00:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20733131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cher/pseuds/cher
Summary: Aziraphale knows a way to ensure that Hell can't ever touch Crowley again.





	flesh and bone by the telephone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hearthouses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearthouses/gifts).

Crowley was jumping at shadows, in a way Aziraphale hadn't seen since the fourteenth century. For the last week he'd hardly left the bookshop, and only once had he gone out without Aziraphale. Of course, being Crowley, he refused to admit to any change in his behaviour. If pressed, he became obnoxious in the way he did when he wanted to distract Aziraphale from the question, so to speak, at hand. 

He twitched for the third time that evening, his head whipping around to look at the bookshop door. _Oh, dear_, Aziraphale thought. _Moving like a snake; he really is terribly upset. _The door was firmly closed and had been for most of the day, and no shadow darkened the stoop. 

"My dear," Aziraphale tried, "won't you please tell me what the matter is?"

"The matter, angel? Nothing's the matter." Crowley leaned even further into his determined sprawl, trying so hard to look casual about it that he fairly vibrated with tension. "Another glass?"

Aziraphale held out the bottle obligingly, topping his own glass off at the same time. He sighed. Crowley wouldn't take his sunglasses off, and Aziraphale was sure it was because if he did, the exhausted hollows under his eyes would be even more obvious than they already were. His friend was suffering, had been for days, and he was giving Aziraphale less than nothing to go on. 

Still, he hadn't been keeping an eye on the fiend since the dawn of time without learning a bit about how to read him. Even if most of that understanding had come very recently, to his shame. (How could he have missed all the feelings Crowley radiated, all the time?) 

The facts Aziraphale had were: 1) Crowley wasn't sleeping, or wasn't sleeping well. He might be having nightmares, perhaps. Furthermore, he'd gotten that body of his so used to sleep that it wasn't coping without it. 2) Crowley was afraid, and there was precious little that could do that, these days. 3) Crowley was reluctant to leave either the bookshop, or Aziraphale himself, he wasn't sure which. 4) Crowley, thus far at least, wouldn't talk about it, even when plied with a really astounding volume of alcohol. 

His theories were a lot less defined than even his sparse facts. They mostly added up to: Hell, or Heaven, or both, had threatened Crowley, or Aziraphale, or both. Worse, Crowley believed the threat. Worse still, Aziraphale did too, without even needing to know what it had been. 

He watched Crowley try to hide the way he'd almost spilled his wine when a couple walked by the shop having a loud conversation. This couldn't go on. He bit his lip and indulged in an anguished bout of dithering. 

Perhaps it might be the time to discuss The Idea. He'd been sitting on it for a very long time. It was so _dangerous_, was one thing, and so—well. It seemed very personal, and very permanent, and he'd really never been sure of Crowley's feelings before. He was sure of _that _at least, now, and it was just the other concerns that worried him. 

Well. They could discuss this, like two beings with free will and a lot of life experience, surely. 

___

"You _what_?" Crowley... well, he screeched, that was really the only word for it. Aziraphale winced. 

"I think I can set my seal on you! Really, my dear, must you be so loud!" 

Crowley snatched his sunglasses off his face, apparently the better to stare at him. Oh, dear, no whites left in his eyes. Aziraphale hoped that was because of his general upset and not because of The Idea. 

"I thought we were friends, and you want to, what, _turn me into a holy object_, before I die screaming? Maybe take Gabriel with me? Was that the plan?"

"Oh, Crowley!" Aziraphale desperately needed to be right beside Crowley just then, and so he was, though he hadn't moved the usual way. He put his hand anxiously on Crowley's flailing arm. "No. Of course not. I think it might hurt you a very great deal, when I set my seal. But it won't—it's not like holy water," he said in a rush. "There was another demon, it was very complicated, I had to smite him right away—oh, don't look like that, you were asleep." 

Crowley blinked. Goodness, that really must have been a lot to take in. He hadn't seen him blink in years. Crowley held up his hand. "Hang on. First—_there was another demon_? What? And you _set your seal on him?_"

"Ah. Well." Aziraphale wrung his hands nervously. He'd really hoped never to have to tell Crowley about this. "You were sleeping, had been for a long while, you know. And I tried to keep up with your tempting, I really did, but I had to guess what your orders might have been, and I suppose I must not have got it right." He looked at Crowley anxiously. "And I checked in on you, well, quite often if I'm to be honest, I suppose. See that you were warm enough and all that." 

Crowley looked a bit like someone had dropped an anvil on his head from a great height. Aziraphale rushed on. "And one day when I was visiting, just reading to you for a bit, you know, and another demon came into your bedroom and I... well, to tell you the truth I had the shock of my life, rather, and I think I overreacted. A little. Perhaps."

"Ngk," said Crowley. 

"Yes, quite," Aziraphale said, wishing he had something to busy his hands with. "And I—well—I manifested. Terribly embarrassing. And then there was this _demon _in your _bedroom_ going to do Lord only knows what, report back on you at the very least, and then, and then, I go and remove all possible doubt that you had an angel with you, and oh, Crowley. I really didn't mean to, but I hadn't been in that form in so long, and one gets rather rusty."

"What did you do?" Crowley asked faintly. 

"I. Well. I very much wanted to make sure that he didn't get away to make any reports, you see, that was all, but—my manifested form affects matter so much differently, I'd forgotten, it's been so long. And, well, I. Bound him. With my seal. I didn't mean to!"

Crowley gestured that he should continue, looking like he'd lost the ability to form words and also like he was wondering how he'd slept through all of this. 

Aziraphale fretted and couldn't look at him while he confessed the next part. "And I had to use my command over him straight away to stop him screaming. It was awful, you have no idea! And then I couldn't think what to do with him, and I could sort of—feel him, a little, through the seal, and it was horrible. He was horrible. The things he'd done, the things he wanted to do! Oh! I don't know how you stand it down there, my dear, I really don't. And he wanted to hurt _you_!" With difficulty, he looked at Crowley, who was still looking poleaxed. 

"And then. There was _another_ demon, I don't know where he came from, I must have been frightfully distracted. He, oh, Crowley, this is terrible, but this is why—well. He grabbed the first demon, and then _he_ was screaming as well, as if he'd touched a holy object, and I—wondered. What the seal could do. And I had to get rid of them both, they were going to hurt you, and you weren't waking up. "

He looked imploringly at Crowley. "You could have talked them down, I know, found some clever way of sending them away, no harm done. But I'm no use at that sort of thing, not really. So I pushed. On the seal. And the second demon burned up, and the first one didn't, until I smote him myself. I couldn't feel him anymore, so I think. I think I destroyed him completely." He swallowed. He still felt conflicted about it. 

"So. Well, it's all a little blurry, I think it's the other form. I had to get the stain out of your floor and I was so worried that all the divine light just near you had hurt you, but there you were, still asleep. And then I worried for you more, because how on earth could I leave you alone if that could happen in your bedroom and there you still were, snoring away!" 

He stopped, working himself up to a glare because that, at least, was firmly and definitely in Crowley's court. 

Crowley closed his mouth, with what looked like something of an effort. "I do not snore!" he said, with a bit less snap in his voice than there ought to be. Well. At least he was speaking again.

"You do, my dear, it's quite endearing. But really, Crowley, you could sleep through the end of the world!"

_My goodness! _Crowley was blushing, just a little bit, pink dusted over his sharp cheekbones. Aziraphale stared in amazement. "I always knew when you were there, angel," he said, a little sheepish, looking at the floor. "'s why I wouldn't have woken up. Knew you'd keep me safe." 

"Oh!" Aziraphale cried, hand to his chest. "Oh my dear, what a lovely thing to say."

Crowley cleared his throat. "So. Your seal, it didn't discorporate whoever that poor bastard was." 

He shook his head. "It hurt him. It didn't kill him. I did some research, later—the Seal of Solomon, demons, you know, and I'm quite sure that if I was in my right mind I could control it better."

Crowley took a deep breath. "Okay. Do it."

Aziraphale pulled back. "What, right now? Just like that? I don't think I can take it off again, Crowley, and I don't know if the—feeling—effect goes both ways, and what if you hate it? You will be stuck with me, my dear, I couldn't bear it." 

Crowley looked back at him, golden eyes wide and wondering. "If _you're_ sure, angel."

Aziraphale tried to convey everything he felt about Crowley, bypassing the verbal because he'd never done right by him with his words. Quite the opposite, in fact. He laid his hand, his gold signet feeling warm and very present, against Crowley face. "My dear, I have never been so sure of anything in my entire existence."

He would be kind to Crowley and not mention the sound the demon made in reply, but the heartfelt little gasp did suggest that perhaps this time he'd said the right thing. No sense putting it off, then. 

Together, they made something of a hash out of unbuttoning Crowley's black shirt.

Aziraphale laid his hand over Crowley's chest, where his heart ought to be (they were both a little hazy on the concept) and met Crowley's eyes. Crowley nodded, once. "Do it, angel." 

This time, the magic was deliberate, as gentle as Aziraphale could make it, which wasn't very. It wasn't a gentle thing, placing a seal onto another person, even done in trust as this was. 

The golden light began to shine from under Aziraphale's hand as the seal took root in Crowley's essence. The demon gritted his teeth and didn't make a sound. Aziraphale closed his eyes and concentrated, all his energy bent on the brand. _Mine, you are mine, Anthony J. Crowley, Serpent of Eden, mine, bound with the seal of Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate. _He made silent vows of protection and of vengeance, of love and of the desire that Crowley not be compelled to obey him, never against his will. He prayed that condition would take, hoped that Crowley was so stubborn that it would. 

The lines of Aziraphale's true name carved themselves deep into Crowley's chest and into his soul as well. He was panting now, and his teeth had lengthened into fangs and his claws had come in. Surely it would be done in a moment, surely this had not taken so long the last time, but then he'd been thoughtless, brutal about it. This was a deliberate weaving into one another, meant to hold them for an eternity. 

Meant to be a bond of love, even if they might never speak it. 

The last lines burned into the seal and Crowley did scream then, thin and high, a horrible animal pain that Aziraphale tried to soothe and could not. He let Crowley rest against him, the bright gold flare of his own divine power shining out from the demon's chest, Crowley's claws clamped tight on his shoulders. He endured the small pain of them, which was nothing to what poor Crowley was bearing. 

It seemed an enormously long time before the pain passed. When it did, Crowley slumped against him, all but insensible, and Aziraphale picked him up and carried him upstairs, the old bedroom with the dusty cramped bed swiftly rearranging itself as he climbed. 

He put Crowley to bed, and waited, feeling uncharacteristically fierce. 

Now, just let Hell come. Just let them try. 

____

Crowley woke slowly, something unfamiliar hovering at the edges of his thoughts. He felt wrung out and a bit singed, as if he'd pushed his power to the limit and gotten too close to something holy at the same time. Must have been rescuing the angel again, then. He smiled. He did so love when he got to do that. 

The surface he was laying on shifted, and he felt a burst of warmth, a half-familiar sensation that was not quite _on _his skin and not quite _in _it either. With difficulty, he forced his eyes open. 

Oh. Oh, he was in the angel's upstairs bedroom, laying on his bed. Angel sitting next to him. _Okay, play it cool_, he told himself sternly, while his insides did what felt like a complicated aerial maneuver. All sorts of reasons to be in Aziraphale's bed. It had never happened before, but there were all sorts of reasons, absolutely. 

"How are you feeling, dear?" Aziraphale was smiling down at him, and the angel was concerned, and amused, and didn't want him to know that he was amused. 

_Wait_. He wasn't getting all that from the angel's expression. He frowned, levered himself up and bit down on a grunt when his chest let him know that all was not forgiven. 

He looked down, and he was—glowing? Oh. Right. Angelic seal, right there on his chest. Passed out from truly amazing levels of pain, that was right. He felt okay now, though, apart from the left over burned feeling he always got when he came too close to holy objects. 

He touched the glyph tentatively, half expecting that it would singe his fingertips. He was a bloody holy object himself, now. 

Nothing much happened. 

"Well. That was certainly a thing," he said, marshalling himself. _His claim on me, look at that. _He'd thought he might feel a bit, well, possessed, all terrible puns aside. He found that what he actually felt, down in the murky depths of himself, was actually a little bit _married_. 

Aziraphale gasped and fluttered at him. "Oh, Crowley. I'm so glad you're all right." He was twisting his hands together the way he did when he was anxious, the way he did when he was worried Heaven wouldn't approve of him. Except. Expect that wasn't what Aziraphale was worried about at all, this time. He was—trying to stop himself from reaching out to touch Crowley. He wanted very badly to touch Crowley's hair. 

Oh. Ohhh. "So, when you said you could 'sort of feel' that demon you wrote your name on...?"

"Well it certainly wasn't anything like this," the angel said, snippy, which was apparently to cover his very intense feelings of possessiveness. Toward Crowley. Well. 

"I'd hope not, angel, with all that coveting of my hair you have going on there," he said, using his smoothest wiling voice and trying to project extreme willingness to be possessed. "Hate to think any old demon got that kind of reaction."

Aziraphale sat up straight, his look of implacability so familiar and dear, it sent Crowley's black heart racing. And bugger it all, now the angel knew that about him. This was actually going to be fairly inconvenient, wasn't it?

"I would just like to know that you're all right, my dear, before. Well. Anything else. Would you try a miracle, please?"

"Ah. Fair point." Hoping that this wasn't what was going to burn him up with holiness counteracting his demonic miracle, he fixed his eyes on the angel and snapped his fingers. If he was going out, he was going out with Aziraphale filling his senses. 

Nothing happened. 

Crowley felt a surge of panic and tried again. Nothing. 

If he didn't have access to his powers, well. Well, maybe that was a trade he was willing to make. 

"Oh," Aziraphale said, eyes wide. "Oh, no. Perhaps... try again?"

Crowley grit his teeth and snapped again, and this time his power answered him, a new fizz to the edges of it but no pain, and there was the hairbrush he'd wanted. He closed his eyes in relief. He would have learned to live with it, if being powerless was enough to keep them safe from Hell, but he was a damn sight happier to be able to protect the angel the usual way. 

"I'm sorry, my dear," Aziraphale said miserably. "I think I stopped you, the first time. I was too afraid it might hurt you. I'm sorry that I can stop you."

"It's fine, angel," he said, meaning it. "I'll find a way around that, just give me time. What I do, after all, loopholes."

Feeling Aziraphale's overwhelming love for him crash down through their entangle was probably going to take longer to get used to. 

__  
  


It was entirely worth it, when Hell came again. They stood together, shoulder to shoulder and when Hastur reached for Crowley, the burst of holy light was like a magnesium flare. It burned through Crowley, down from his avenging angel, punching out of his chest with force enough to push him back into Aziraphale's chest. It hurt, channeling Azirpahale's fury, but it didn't injure him. 

The duke wailed as if he were Falling all over again, bathed in Heaven's light by way of a willing demon, and vanished. Discorporated or destroyed, and either way Hell was warned off them again. 

Perhaps Crowley would be able to find a way to return the favour, next time Heaven came for them. And in the meantime, his angel had all sorts of interesting reactions to smiting demons in defense of his own demon. Well. 

Crowley whisked them both back to his flat, to explore those interesting ideas at his leisure. 


End file.
